


Call of the Running Tide

by StarSpray



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Tooks having adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belladonna and Mirabella Took go looking for the Elven Havens by the Sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call of the Running Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Зов прибоя](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466258) by [venwe (holy_milk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_milk/pseuds/venwe)



> I got the first inspiration for this story from the LLA April 11th picture prompt "They Stood Like Memory", but it also fits the general prompt from the same date, being an "adventure."
> 
> Title comes from the poem "Sea Fever" by John Masefield.

“Where are you going _this_ time?” Isengrim asked, leaning on the barn door with his arms crossed.

Belladonna tossed her braids over her shoulder. “West,” she said, before glancing back. “Mira, are you ready?”

“Almost,” Mirabella called from inside. A moment later she appeared leading her own pony. She smiled brightly when she spotted Isengrim. “Oh hello, Isengrim. Are you going to join us?”

“What’s _west?_ ” he asked instead of answering, raising an eyebrow. “You listen to old Gandalf tell it, all the interesting adventures are _east_ , where there’s mountains and Big Folk running about getting into trouble.”

“Maybe we don’t want _that_ sort of adventure,” Belladonna said primly. “Gandalf also said there’s elves living by the Sea. They build ships, and sometimes they sail away from the Havens.”

“Sail away _where_ , I wonder,” Mirabella added. “That’s what I’m going to ask, when we get there.”

“Wherever it is, I’d wager hobbits can’t follow,” Isengrim pointed out.

“Who said anything about _following?_ ” Belladonna asked. “We’re not daft, Grim. The king’ll come back before I ever set foot in a boat! We’re _Tooks,_ not _Brandybucks_.”

“ _Yet,_ ” Isengrim said, laughing when Mirabella blushed. “Gorbadoc Brandybuck was asking about you, Mira, when I saw him in Hobbiton last week.”

“Stop teasing, Grim,” Belladonna said. “Come on, Mira. If we leave now we’ll reach the Ivy Bush by sundown.”

They did not reach the Ivy Bush by sundown, but did arrive before twilight gave way to full evening. There was quite a crowd in the inn that evening—a host of Boffins and Bracegirdles apparently celebrating something. Belladonna was mildly curious about it, but none of her friends were in the group, so she decided she wasn’t curious enough to go find out. Instead she and Mirabella made friends with a small group of Dwarves, traveling to the Iron Hills from the Blue Mountains in the west, and learned two new walking songs, and a drinking song that would make even their brothers blush when they heard it.

The Dwarves gave them advice on the best roads to take to the Elven havens, though Belladonna heard one mutter about the silly whimsical notions that hobbits sometimes had.

Once they left the Shire proper behind, there were no more inns, and no houses or holes to stay the night in, either. But neither Mirabella nor Belladonna minded; they’d spent hundreds of nights camping beneath the stars.

“Doesn’t look much like a flower,” Mirabella remarked one evening, as Belladonna dug their supper out of her bag.

“What doesn’t?” she asked absently.

“The Moon.” Mirabella’s voice was a little dreamy. Belladonna looked up to squint at her across the fire. She lay with her head pillowed on her arms, gazing up at the moon. It was full that night, covering the countryside with a pale light that gave everything a silver sheen, except for their little campfire.

Belladonna blinked, and then looked up at the moon, before staring at Mirabella again. “What are you going on about, Mira?”

“Gandalf was telling stories, when he was here for Da’s birthday last month,” Mirabella said. “About how once there wasn’t any Sun or Moon, and all the light came from stars, except in the Blessed Realm where the Powers live. They had trees for light.”

“Trees don’t _glow_ , Mira, that’s silly.”

“ _These_ ones did. Only something happened and they died, except the Powers took a flower for the Moon and a fruit for the Sun, and then they put ‘em in the sky so now everywhere has night and day.” Mira sounded quite pleased with herself, for remembering the story.

Belladonna shook her head and handed her an apple dumpling. “That’s just a story, Mira. Like the ones they tell about the walking trees in the Old Forest that eat children who go too far in.”

“It is _not_ just a story,” Mira protested. “It’s—it’s _History_.”

“Exactly! It's _his_ story—old Gandalf just made it up for a laugh.”

“Well then where did the Sun and Moon come from?” Mirabella demanded. “Since you obviously _know_.”

“I _don’t_ know. I just know that trees don’t _shine_. And anyway, you said yourself the moon doesn’t even _look_ like a flower.”

Mirabella chewed thoughtfully on her dumping, then asked, “Do you think the elves would know? We could ask them, when we get to the Havens.”

“They wouldn’t tell us. Elves like to be all mysterious. And anyway, I don’t think they care much. Elves like the stars. That’s why they’re always singing about Elbereth.”

Mirabella was skeptical of this, but the whole conversation was forgotten by the time they drew close enough to the coast to smell the sea—a salty, briny smell that was fresh and strange and exhilarating. Belladonna and Mirabella drew to a halt atop a hill. The land rolled down before them, green grass giving way to white sand that in turn gave way to an expanse of water so vast that it took Belladonna’s breath away. She’d known the Sea was _big_ , of course, that had been why she’d wanted to see it. But she hadn’t quite been able to picture it, water all the way out to the horizon and stretching even beyond, bluer than the sky. Waves beat a steady rhythm against the shore, white with foam, reaching like fingers up the sand until they were dragged back out again.

“Oh,” Mirabella breathed beside her. Her eyes were round as saucers, and then she leaned forward, pointing excitedly. “Bella, look, look there, it’s a ship!” Belladonna squinted out over the water, and saw something moving steadily over it, toward… “And those must be the Elven Havens! Oh, let’s go—”

“Let’s go to the beach, first,” Belladonna said. “And follow that to the Havens. I want to get my toes wet.”

The Sea was even more impressive up close. Belladonna left her pony grazing among the dunes and ran out to the waves, stopping just where they reached farthest up the sand. The water was cool over her toes. There were other things there, too—rocks, wood worn to silky smoothness, and dozens of kinds of shells. “Mira, look at this!” She picked up one nearly the length of her hand, a neat ridged white spiral.

They took their time going along the beach, collecting all the interesting bits of flotsam and jetsam that caught their eye, while the ponies followed along behind. They had had a vague notion of reaching the Havens before sunset, and reached the city just as the sun started turning the western horizon orange. There were still plenty of elves—and Men, too—going about their business, and the two hobbits drew quite a bit of attention, riding in on their ponies, salt and sand in their hair. They were welcomed with clear delight—hobbits had never before come to the Elven cities west of the Blue Mountains.

And by the time the first stars winked into the sky overhead, the sisters found themselves being welcomed to the spacious home of Lord Círdan himself, who ruled the Havens. He lived right on the water, not far from the shipyards. He was not like any of the other elves they had seen that day. He had a beard, and he didn’t laugh as much, or tease them, and there was an air of something like melancholy wreathed about him like mist. But he welcomed Belladonna and Mirabella warmly, and he smiled as easily as any of the other elves they’d met; they dined with him and other elves that evening, sitting atop cushions at the main table, and listening eagerly to the various conversations. The elves were only too happy to indulge their questions, and asked many of their own, apparently fascinated by the details of life in the Shire.

The next day, Mirabella sweet-talked her way to the kitchens, while Belladonna went exploring the harbor. There seemed to be a bustle of activity around on particular ship, and she drifted in that direction, curious. It was being loaded with cargo, what looked to Belladonna mostly like food.

“Is that ship going to sail West?” she asked one of the elves overseeing the loading. He looked down in brief surprise—news traveled fast, among elves, Belladonna had found. There probably wasn’t a single person in the Havens who didn’t know about the two hobbit lasses who’d come to visit.

“Yes,” he said. “They are to depart this afternoon with the tide.”

“Oh.” Belladonna eyed the ship. It rocked gently with the movement of people walking around on it, and with the waves lapping at it from below.

The elf saw her looking. “Would you like to see it up close?” he asked, gesturing towards the ship.

Belladonna shook her head quickly. “No thank you,” she said, hoping she wasn’t being rude. “Hobbits weren’t meant to sail about on ships and boats and things. It’s not natural.”

The elf nodded, eyes crinkling around the edges, like he was trying not to smile. “I see. My apologies.”

“Where do you go, when you sail off like that?” Belladonna asked. “No one ever says, when they talk about the elves sailing away.”

“West,” said the elf. “They take the Straight Road, that only elves can find, and sail on to Valinor.”

“Why?”

The elf laughed, a little. “That, I think, depends on who you ask.”

“Oh.”

Belladonna looked around, noticing statues dotting the harbor, looking like they were standing vigil over the water. She approached the nearest one, finding writing about the base, but she couldn’t read it. She knew her letters, of course—her father had a whole library full of books—but she didn’t speak any language but the Common Tongue. The statue itself was of a woman, clad in what looked like some kind of weed turned into a dress, with hair that flowed around her and pooled at her feet. Her face was kind, a small, soft smile on her lips as she gazed back down at Belladonna.

The elf had followed her. “That is a statue of Uinen,” he said, “Lady of the Seas.” He gestured to another nearby statue. “And that is her husband Ossë.”

Belladonna had never heard of either, but that was all right, since the elf, who introduced himself as Galdor, was happy to tell her about them.

There were other statues nestled about Mithlond, too, most of them heroes or kings or queens. In the main square was a great bronze statue of a man on a horse, spear in hand, clad in armor, looking very stern. That was Gil-galad, Belladonna was told, the last High King of the Elves in Middle-earth, who had died fighting the Enemy far away in Mordor.

Even Hobbits new that name, a looming shadow at the edges of their most frightening tales. Belladonna stared up at King Gil-galad’s face and wondered if it was a good likeness, and if he had been as merry as all the other elves she’d met, before he’d gone off to war.

They stayed a week in the Grey Havens. By the time they left, Mirabella had a dozen new recipes to add to her ever-growing book at home, and Belladonna had several books of history and poetry to add to her swiftly-growing collection, and the elves had insisted on giving them other gifts, too—a small chest filled to the brim with pearls, and another, smaller chest for the shells and stones and bits of driftwood they’d gathered before reaching the city.

They paused on the last hilltop before the sea vanished from view. “You know,” Mirabella said as they turned around to get one last look at it, shimmering blue-grey, vast as the sky overhead, “I had the oddest dream last night, Bella.”

“Oh?”

“I dreamed I was boarding one of the Elven ships—you know, the ones that sail West and don’t return. And I was carrying a star in my hand. I don’t remember much else, except for the sound of the waves.”

“You were _carrying_ a star?”

Mirabella shrugged as they turned back toward the Shire. “I told you it was odd.”

“Well, if we’re talking about dreams, I think I’ll be hearing the sea in mine for quite a long time.”

“It does get in your head, doesn’t it? Like music, only there’s no words.”

And it was more than that. They’d only just left, but Belladonna already wanted to go back, just as far as the beach to watch the waves, and listen to the gulls.

They rode in thoughtful silence for several miles. Then Belladonna said, “What if we went looking for some dwarves? They live in the mountains, don’t they?”

Mirabella grinned. “Why not? It’s on the way.”


End file.
